


these are the demons that bite at your soul

by hazelpeach



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Comfort, I write too many Spencer fics, Mild Smut, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Content, i'm hyperfixating on him ssshhh, reader is traumatized, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelpeach/pseuds/hazelpeach
Summary: when you have a break down during your first time with spencer, you finally have to tell him about your past.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 85





	these are the demons that bite at your soul

It was simple.

You had finally decided to go to the next step with Spencer. You had talked about it for a while, came to the conclusion, and (in character for him) planned in meticulously. Spencer himself had little experience, seeing as you were really his first official relationship, so he wanted to know as much as possible so he could please you properly. He read hundreds of books, researched it, until he finally felt that he was ready to give it a go.

So, here you were, lying with him beneath you, making out on your bed. Your hands were grasping at his hair, tugging ever so lightly, smiling as you swallow his tiny gasps.

But then it happened. Spencer’s hair wandered downwards to your thighs, and it struck. That feeling you were scared of. The feeling you were sure wouldn’t come up. The terrifying thought that you couldn’t shake. And with that, memories all came surfacing up.

Spencer was already worried when you pulled away quickly, but his worry turned stronger when he saw tears holding themselves in your eyes, daring to spill out. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft. Tender. Loving. All things that you’d want it to be. But it doesn’t help. You fall back, scrambling off his lap to go and stand up next to the bed. He sits up, using his hands to prop himself.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh. Oh God, Spencer, no. No, no, no. It wasn’t- It wasn’t you. Don’t think that.” Your hand clasps over your mouth, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. “No, it’s, uh…”

“We can stop if you want.” 

“Can we?”

“Of course.”

After a brief moment of silence, filled with nothing but your heavy breathing and occasional sniff, he pats the space next to him on the couch, signalling for you to sit. You comply, slowly moving yourself to sit next to him. He goes to grasp your hand, but you jerk your hand away before he can. He gets the hint and keeps his hands to himself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

You don’t respond.

“Honey?”  
There it was. The only pet name he ever uses for you. His thoughts on them are negative; thinking they’re pointless, but when he noticed you have a fondness for them, he picked out one he was most comfortable with. It was old fashioned and polite, exactly what you’d expect from him. There’s such a sweetness that comes from it.

So you explain. You tell him all about your past, the sexual abuse, the filthiness you felt ever since you got hands layed on you, everything you’ve ever felt. Spencer sits and listens patiently, his eyes furrowing with worry. He can feel that knot begin to turn in his stomach but he refuses to let himself get emotional. Not when you are. No matter how much he feels right now, he knows you need him to be strong. You need him to be there.

After you finish, you two sit in silence for the second time. He takes time to process it. There’s one thing terrible about having an eidetic memory; he’ll forever remember every word you said to him. He’ll always know what you’ve gone through, in as much detail as you gave him. 

“I’m so sorry.” It’s the only thing he knows how to say. How do you respond to something like this? How do you comfort someone without triggering them? He should know this. He’s a profiler, for God’s sake. But somehow nothing comes up when he tries to rationalize. It’s you, not some unsub. Not a victim sobbing in front of him in a station. It’s you, in front of him, sitting on your bed, holding back your tears as if you don’t want to embarrass yourself. It’s heart wrenching.

“We don’t have to… you know. Uhm, we can just… sit here. I’m not- I won’t make you do anything. We can just talk.”

You smile weakly, turning to look at him for the first time in minutes. “Thank you, Spence.” Finally, a tear drips down your cheek. He reaches his hand up with a question on his face. You nod, and he brings it to your cheek, wiping the tear away.

You know he won’t dare touch you any more without consent. He knows how that feels. So you take it upon yourself to lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. It’s more emotional than the ones before. Less lust driven, and more love driven. It’s filled with passion and gratitude. It’s peace.

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. Both of your breathing is heavy. You move forward to go and lie down on your bed, watching as he crawls up and lays himself next to you. You both lay on your sides, just looking at each other. He’s all you’ll need.

"We can do that in a couple weeks. It, uh... make love, I mean."

You can't help but laugh. The innocence he portrays is so endearing. "I'd like that I lot. Just... next time I need to get myself more emotionally ready first, I think."

"That's a good idea."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."


End file.
